


Golden

by iloveyoudie



Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [7]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lazy Mornings, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: George couldn’t help admiring him with the sun glowing over his profile, a border of nearly blinding and gorgeous light. Looking at him never got old.
Relationships: Ronnie Box/George Fancy
Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> something that just came upon me. not definite where exactly in our little 'timeline' this is but i'm sure itll all fill itself in.

It was Sunday morning. The day of rest. The last day of a calm weekend where no one had a murder and no one had weekend casenotes. The sort of morning that was sunny and warm regardless of the weather, where beaming light through the windows threw snug pools of gold over the pair of them. No one had gotten up yet. No water put on for tea or coffee. No breakfast. Just laying about and talking.

“What’ve you got on this week?” George was on his belly, shuffled close to Ronnie’s side, one leg cast over the other man’s and curled around his calf. He had his pillow bunched up under his head with his arms and he spoke softly in the honeyed stillness, because it was morning and they hadn’t gotten up and it just seemed like the right way to do things. One of his arms curled out from under the pillow just enough to occasionally fiddle through Ronnie’s hair, the waves and curls he hid behind tasteful haircuts and grooming products most of the time. George couldn’t help admiring him with the sun glowing over his profile, a border of nearly blinding and gorgeous light. Looking at him never got old.

“Court for that Jericho ring,” Ronnie was on his back looking at the ceiling with one arm alternating between being under his own pillow and playing with his own hair. It was an idle habit he was barely aware of doing, plucking strands straight out until he looked rather like a mad scientist when it came time to rise and shine. His other arm was under the covers, fingertips just grazing George’s thigh and hip where they rested over his own. He glanced at George’s face, the way the sunlight lit his eyes to a honey gold, the mossy center softened and brightened. He’d look half asleep until he’d showered, always did, and it was absolutely mad that Box enjoyed knowing that so much.

“Jim helped you with that case didn’t heeeaaauuuuughhh,” George yawned huge and then rubbed his nose in the pillow.

“Aw, none of that. Now I’m gonnaaauuuuuuughhhh,” Box echoed, dropping that raised arm to cover his mouth. He rubbed his eyes, “Yeah we needed one of your lot and he apparently knows the cousin of one of the blokes from some place or other.”

George smiled. Ronnie had been better, for the most part, with Jim and the like. He’d never get on with Morse any better, and he and Thursday got on fine already, but after he’d moved to Robbery even Jim seemed more willing to accept that George actually liked him. That he wasn’t being kidnapped or coerced or turned to the dark side. George wasn’t sure if Box was different himself, but he didn’t think so. He still didn’t pull his punches or check his tongue and that did him much better in Robbery than it had with Mr. Bright. George sort of wanted to think that he was a good influence, but the truth was that he didn’t feel like either of them was any different than before. Certainly not different than the weeks where they’d first hooked up. They did all the same things now as they did when things were more casual… except now they did it all the time. Exclusively. And other people knew about it.

God, they hadn’t liked that.

And yes, Box had moved on to a different department. And yes, there had been some stubborn rows and a screaming match somewhere in there. Epic miscommunication. Fleeing for the hills. Running back. But life moved on… and just as Ronnie had said about him moving to a different department - a different division - a different part of HQ, _it got so much easier for them_.

Ronnie shifted after his yawn, reached for his watch without much moving or even looking, and while his fingers fumbled around on the bedside table, George scooted closer. He could sense that the ‘rising’ part of the morning may have been approaching more swiftly than he’d like. Ronnie’s hidden arm moved under the duvet, adjusted so George could lay against his side and tuck into him and put his head on his chest. His watch was captured at the same time and he blinked against the sunlight to see the time, the glint over the glass and metal, and then he put it back down with a heavy sort of dismissive nonchalance.

“I’ll get up-” he murmured aloud, though it was not to anyone but himself. He did this often, narrated his schedule in a low mutter to lay out his day. George only half listened, picking out the bits he cared about and zoning out the rest, but the truth was he liked listening to Ronnie talk. He usually packed in several good rants a day, if George was lucky, and the pair of them could sometimes be in competition for attention with one another, but it was different to hear his even murmurings in the sleepy morning haze without any bluster or posturing or performance.

“-breakfast and tea. Shower. At some point I need to go back to mine. Grab some groceries on the way. Probably should get my dry cleaning…”

“Just don’t go,” George said it before he even absorbed what he’d said. A statement of fact, plain and to the point, that even surprised himself.

Box chuckled, just blinking back from rubbing sleep from his eyes again. He hadn’t caught George’s expression yet, the wide eyed shock at himself, so he tightened his arm around him and pressed his lips to the other’s forehead, “Not having work would be a bloody miracle but there is no escape.”

“No,” George lifted his face to pin Ronnie’s eyes with his own. Damn they were blue, especially in this morning light. He almost couldn’t continue a moment because he was just stuck, “Like _ever_. I think I hate it..” George’s brow furrowed as he puzzled it all out slowly, “..when you go back to your flat and I’m in mine,” his voice raised a curious octave, “I think I hate it?? I always kind of have probably..”

Box’s brow furrowed also, finally having caught on to George’s gravity.

“..but before it was just me going batty over some hot guy I was hooking up with??” He smiled crookedly. Box mirrored it.

George continued, “It sucks, mate. You go home, I stay here, and we do our chores and, you know, try and maximize alone time - and then… what? I text you 40 times a night with dumb shit and you FaceTime me while you make a damn steak - _cause that’s all you eat when you’re alone_ \- and then I definitely try and play it cool and not seem clingy because what I _really_ want is to see you _every_ night - even with work and stuff- and being tired -”

Ronnie’s hand caught George’s chin and jaw in that familiar, firm way and he pulled him closer and kissed him. George’s argument stopped and all the tense delivery of his complaints seemed to melt away. He made a pleasant humming sound and felt his body tingle from head to foot and awaken in the way that only Ronnie Box could make it.

When their lips parted, George actually continued, but softer and about a centimetre from Ronnie’s lips, “Yeah, I hate it. So we shouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Shouldn’t do anything you hate, darlin',” Box agreed with soft amusement.

George smiled, his eyes had wandered for fear of what Ronnie might say, but they darted back when he agreed. George scooted further on top of him, straddled him and cradled his lovely chiseled face in his hands, “Yeah, you’re right. Because I _do_ hate it -” his voice morphed lightly with an almost childlike whine of complaint, “and I just want to bother you 40 times a night _in person_. Always. I don’t want to FaceTime till you fall asleep… I want..” he patted Ronnie’s slightly stubbled cheeks, “face time.”

Box looked equal parts amused at George’s insistence and touched by the sentiment. He smiled small and turned his face to kiss the palm of one of those hands. His own hands had slid down over George’s waist to hold his hips. He could be gentle when he wanted, but George rather liked being gripped onto. Held. He liked a bit of force and the feeling that there was no mystery in something so firm and definite.

George moved close again, kissed him, and brushed their noses lightly together, “If I hate being away from you… it’s got to be because I love-”

“Being with me?”

“-you.”

The jumble of their words hung there a moment, the statements overlaying and running together and George looked unsure if they were on the same page. Box was nearly unreadable with his usual sort of squint.

“I hate it too,” Ronnie finally said in that restrained way. The one where he was making a very concerted effort to be open against an almost life long effort of the opposite, “Going home. Or you going home, whichever. Leavin’ work and goin’ separate ways.”

It was George's turn to be amused and endeared.

“So,” Box inhaled deeply and then exhaled a deep sigh, as if he were coming to some very put upon point, but there was that usual cheeky smirk across his lips when he met George's eyes again, “If I also hate all that rubbish, I must also love-”

“Being with me?” George blurted.

“-you.”

George grinned wide and Box fought his own grin halfheartedly and failed.

And George kissed him again, held his cheeks and abandoned himself to Ronnie for a while. To this absolutely ridiculous thing they’d found together, where everything was just better together than it could ever be apart.

And so they just shouldn’t be apart. Ever again if he could help it.

Because they both just loved... ... ...the opposite of that.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe they should just move in together...
> 
> or something. 
> 
> like a love confession would ever just be straightforward? coulda been worse tbh


End file.
